Finding Home
by Dominatrice
Summary: Why on earth had Draco Malfoy waltzed back into my life, after four years of being very much out of it, and asked for a cup of coffee? I was going to put this question to him, I really was. - D/G Oneshot. Could be considered fluffy. A good old fashioned take on this pairings progression from friends to lovers. Compliant with all except Epilogue.


_-I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart,_

_But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start._

_You put your arms around me,_

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go._

_You put your arms around me and I'm home.-_

_Arms – Christina Perri_

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

Is there anything as frightening as that of the unknown? When I was a child, I was fearless, for I believed I knew everything. What could there possibly be to know outside of the orchard, the acres and acres of rolling turf beneath the azure sky? My world was a small one, contained in its bubble by the ignorance of the concept of _more_.

My world was shattered when I was eleven. I went to Hogwarts seeking knowledge, and adventure. I found knowledge, more than I could handle, and pain. So much pain. But I am, above all things, a Weasley, and we do not stay in pieces easily. That is the wondrous thing about something that has been broken; it can be remade. I picked up the pieces of my scattered self and held them close, buried them deep inside, where they could decay into a nothing of a nothingness. Then, when only a remnant of a thought of a shadow remained, it took seed. As I turned twelve, I knew that I had found a new identity. The foundations of myself were the same; the seed was of the original, but I was stronger. Darker.

Do not misunderstand me, I did not become evil. No, I was, am, still a lion at heart. But there is a shadow over me, one that people fail to see – or choose not to see – because it merely lurks. My father sees it. I see the worry lines at the edge of his eyes crease thoughtfully when he looks into my own. My mother sees it, although she comments not. So long as I laugh, and love, she is content. Of my brothers, the unexpected proves true. Bill knew something was different, but put it down to little sisters growing up. Charlie was oblivious, as was Percy, but the twins saw. And Ron. I did not expect it of Ron; he has a talent for not seeing what he doesn't want to, but he saw nonetheless. Perhaps it is because he has spent so much time with Harry, the shadow that lies over Harry swamps mine. But the one that surprised me most of all, was Draco Malfoy.

Four years we spent, locking eyes across the room, frowning, trying to decipher the others secrets. We didn't speak to start with, except to throw the occasional insult across a crowded corridor, but he was Ron's enemy, not mine. By the time the War broke out, we were almost civil. I was maybe the only person in that castle to see him for what he really was – a lost little boy looking for his father's approval; mired too deeply in something he didn't fully comprehend. We would 'accidentally' run into each other at the Quidditch pitch, and fly together, venting our frustration to the wind. He kissed me once, a clumsy, bruising kiss that conveyed only desperation. I've never forgotten the wild look in his eyes as he pulled away, his stammered apology, the way he bolted back to the castle. He avoided me after that, and the last time I saw him he was slipping away from the wreckage of the Last Battle as I mourned over the bodies of my brother and friends. I didn't see him for the longest time after the War.

It did not take Harry and I long to realise we were not right for each other. We were more like siblings and one rather embarrassing, but hilarious, attempt at sex left us breathless with laughter and agreeing to remain friends. Harry went off to be an Auror, and I left to pursue my ambition to be a professional Quidditch player. The day I was accepted into the Harpy's Academy was quite possibly the best of my life. Years and years went into the training, until I was playing in the top league, on the First Team. It was so bizarre at first, the way total strangers would point and stare in the street, and bold kids would run up to me to ask for autographs. But familiarity breeds contempt, and though I am ashamed to admit it, this treatment became commonplace to me.

I suppose I grew arrogant, used to the hero worship and the perks that came with fame. The worst thing was I didn't realise it. In interviews I would laugh and say that my favourite way to spend a Sunday afternoon was still to return home for an infamous Weasley Sunday dinner. It wasn't of course – I attended those less and less frequently – it was to attend the lively cocktail parties of the Quidditch elite, or to make the most of the latest complementary tickets to the gig of an up and coming band. I thought I had just grown and developed into my role in society, but the truth was I had become estranged from myself.

Not much was heard of Draco after the War. He went abroad, to study at a Wizarding University in Eastern Europe, and his return three years later to Wizarding Britain was low key and rather unexciting. He took up a position in the Ministry as Assistant to the Foreign Minister. According to the Daily Prophet he spoke four different languages fluently and had influence and contacts in every Nation of note, not to mention others. I remember reading the back page story on him with the faintest stirrings of curiosity in my belly. The memories of his cool gaze on me igniting a remembrance of self in me that I had not felt for too many years.

I had pushed him to the back of my mind, buried myself in the physicality of playing Quidditch six days a week and the taxing social life I led. But then I saw him in the most unlikely of places. It was the penultimate game of the Season – us, the Harpy's, against the Chudley Canons – and I knew that Ron might be sitting in the Harpy's stand, but he would be inwardly cheering on the Canons. That was fine; it took the pressure off somewhat.

I'd just scored for the third time in the game, and we had a solid forty point lead. I'd done a double barrel role to the appreciative roar of the crowd before I swept in a wide arc around the front of the stands. And that's when I saw him. He was sat alone amongst families of four or five, all elegance and poise, in a cloak of darkest navy. Our eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and then I arced away, back to the game, and away from the quiet curiosity in his eyes.

It was hard to concentrate again, but after almost dropping the quaffle I gave myself a tongue lashing to have made my mother quail and got my mind back on the game. We won, convincingly, but for the first time since I had earned my spot on the team, I made my excuses and left before the after party.

He was waiting for me at the entrance to the stadium, and that is where our story truly begins.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

He was reclined against the stone pillar, pale face tilted up towards the darkening sky, his breath misting gently in the cool autumn air. I stood a little way back, hidden in the shadow of the looming stadium, and observed him for a few moments. He had become a man in the long years since I had last seen him. The long lines of his body no longer seemed gangly, but elegant. Refined. It was difficult to tell in the half light, but he seemed to have finally found a pair of shoulders somewhere. His iconic platinum locks were stylishly cut and allowed to settle as they would atop his head, lending him an air of casual indifference. He had been attractive at school, but the features he had grown into made him unavoidably handsome.

"Like what you see, Weasley?" he asked, his smooth baritone blending seamlessly with the evenings quiet. I rolled my eyes; I should have known that he would notice me.

Ignoring his droll tone, I stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light cast by the lamps affixed to the entrance. Appraising him face to face, I had to admit to myself that there was something truly fixating about him.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, Malfoy," I replied, careful to keep my tone neutral. The unspoken words hung between us, _since the War_. "What can I do for you?"

He didn't reply for a long minute, he just stood there with his hands in his pockets, gazing unblinkingly at me through the silvery strands of hair that fell across his eyes. "Could we go for a coffee?" he asked suddenly, knocking me off balance. Why on earth had Draco Malfoy waltzed back into my life, after four years of being very much out of it, and asked for a cup of coffee? I was going to put this question to him, I really was.

"Sure," I said instead. I was tired and sore, and if I wasn't going to solve that particular problem with alcohol, then the coffee would be a blessing.

He offered me the crook of his arm, and I took it without thinking, the thought that I maybe shouldn't be so trustful coming too late to have been of any use. We apparated with a sharp crack, appearing at one of the designated arrival spots in the more well-to-do end of Diagon Alley. As we walked towards a well-known Café, I was grateful that a few years of being in the eye of the press had rubbed off on me, having changed into a classy ensemble of dark trousers and a forget-me-not blue cashmere v-neck. The proprietor might not have appreciated me striding in in my Quidditch robes, smelling of stale sweat and pine residue.

We took a small table in the far corner, ordered our drinks and waited for them in silence. I studied him openly, as he did to me in return, glad that I too reaped the benefits of calm self-assurance. He really was striking, too much so to be called handsome in a typically masculine way, but not effeminate either. I was absolutely certain that his jaw hadn't been that chiselled when I'd last seen him.

"Yes," I said after a moment, my lips twitching as he arched a questioning pale eyebrow. "I like what I see." His other eyebrow jumped up to meet the first, and I knew that I had shocked him a little.

"Well, you've certainly changed since we last met," he murmured, "Ginevra."

Our drinks arrived before I could reply, so I settled for a quirk of the lips that he could interoperate as he chose. Lifting the cup to my lips, I breathed in the smell of freshly brewed coffee with a small sigh of pleasure. Taking a sip I nodded in approval, this Café was well frequented for a very good reason.

Placing it back down on the table, I noticed that the little milk jug sat untouched between us. "I remember you having a sweet tooth at school, _Draco_. I wouldn't have taken you for the unsweetened, black coffee type."

He shrugged. "They didn't often put milk in tea or coffee where I was at University. I suppose it's a matter of what you get used to," he replied, ignoring my emphatic use of his name. We sat in silence for a few minutes more, sipping our coffee and trying to suss the other out. In the end I broke the silence, patience having never been one of my strongest virtues.

"What can I do for you, Draco? You obviously sought me out for something, and I hardly think it was too rekindle our non-existent friendship." He frowned at me over the rim of his cup before setting it back carefully on the saucer.

"What if that was my reason exactly?" he shot back, the faintest of smirks playing on his lips. I rolled my eyes.

"Apart from the very obvious question of 'why', how do you propose to rekindle something that was never there to begin with?"

He gave me a very old fashioned look before dismissing what I had said with a flutter of his fingers. "I disagree. Granted, we weren't exactly friends in the normal sense, but I think we were something approaching it." He regarded me seriously, grey eyes dark and intent. "I'll admit it Ginevra, I liked you. You weren't full of all that self-righteous bullshit like the others, and you weren't politically motivated. You just liked flying with me to blow of some steam, and… I liked it too."

He gazed at me uncertainly, face guarded and wary. I peered thoughtfully into the dregs of my coffee, struggling slightly to process what he was saying. What I was struggling with, if I am honest, was the fact that I agreed with him. We may not have been friends, but we had found some small solace in each other's company during a very difficult time in our lives, made more significant, perhaps, by the fact that we had been on different sides of the War.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes; I was tired, and this was such a strange and unexpected end to my day that I didn't really know how to deal with it. Propping my chin on my hands I looked back to the man across the table from me, trying to gauge whether he was being serious, or whether this was some kind of elaborate set up for some farfetched prank. His face was carefully blank, but the tightness around his eyes was telling enough to me that I believed him.

"Okay, so let's say that I take your explanation at face value, what do you hope to achieve from this?" I asked, feeling like we were participating in some strange parody of an interview.

"I'm not sure, really," he replied, his tone cool but his face more open than it had been. "All I know is that I find myself wanting a… honest friendship, I suppose, and you are the one person who keeps springing to mind."

I nodded thoughtfully, trying to keep the incredulity off my face. It was obviously costing him a great deal to be so open with me, and I didn't want to put his back up by letting my disbelief – however mild it was – show through.

"What about Zabini," I asked, genuinely curious, "or Parkinson?"

He smirked again, lifting his hands again in the universal gesture of helplessness. "What can I say? They make for stimulating companions, but it is too deeply in their natures to scheme. I can never really let go around them, I'm too concerned with what idle comment of mine might end up in the Daily Prophet, cited as being from a 'close friend'."

"Yes, I can imagine," I said, knowing exactly how he felt. Long exposure to the media had also made me wary, and consequently I had drifted away from most of my friends, only keeping in contact with Luna and Colin, and mostly because I could rely on the fact that they had their own professional image to protect.

"So, there we have it," he said with a note of finality. I nodded slowly, too drained after the match to put too much energy into anything. A part of me, a small part of me, was telling me that I was an absolute idiot. This strange, mercurial man couldn't just expect to wander into my perfectly orderly life and announce he wanted to be my friend. He couldn't! It was incongruous at best. And yet… I was bored with life. I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself – what kind of person plays professional Quidditch and gets _bored_?! – but it was the truth. I felt jaded; everything in my life had become so superficial, and the only time I felt really alive and myself was in the sky, the world and all its demands a forgotten thing far below my feet.

I dug around in my bag for a scrap of parchment and a quill. Scrawling down my address and Floo number I pushed it across the table. "Call by whenever you feel like it," I said, ignoring the persistent little voice in my head that was shrieking indignantly. "I train at the Harpy's home ground Mondays through to Fridays, seven till five, and Saturdays nine till one."

"Thanks," he said, surprise evident in both his voice and face. If some kind of friendship was what he wanted, I couldn't be doing with playing it coy. "You've taken a lot less persuading than I thought you would."

"Well, let's just say that you're not the only one who needs something fresh in your life." It was an evasive answer, but the only one I felt comfortable enough to give him at that moment in time.

He withdrew a small slip of parchment from his breast pocket and handed it to me. "My address and Floo," he explained, needlessly. "If I'm not at home, I'm in the office; my hours are what you might call, shall we say, varied." Taking note of his dry tone of voice, I took that to mean long.

Standing, I shrugged into my jacket, ignoring the faint protests of sore muscles. We left the café together, Draco stopping briefly to pay at the counter. He waved away my attempt to pay and I let it go, it wasn't like he thought I couldn't afford it, I very likely got paid more than he did. Not, however, that I had an extensive family fortune behind me like he did.

We walked in comfortable silence towards the apparating area, each lost in our own reflections. I felt off balance, as though none of this was quite real. I would never have expected to feel so comfortable in Draco Malfoy's company, even after our strange companionship at school. But there it was, and trying to fathom the motives behind his expressionless gaze had put me back in touch with the unfathomable side of my own personality.

Stifling a yawn behind my hand, I turned to bid Draco goodnight. He was gazing down at me expressionlessly, and I frowned slightly. He stood a good head above me, but I was used to being towered over by six older brothers. "Well, good night then," I said, striving for casual, but still sounding slightly stilted to my own ears.

"Well played today." The ghost of a smile teased the corners of his lips. "Good night, Ginevra," he drawled softly, and then he was gone with a decisive crack. Shaking my head at the strangeness of men, I too disapparated with a softer pop.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

It really is true what they; time flies when you're having fun. As the Quidditch season tailed off with the approach of winter, I found myself with a little more time on my hands. In previous years I'd really let loose in the off season, partying wildly and going on impromptu holidays to places where the sun shone. But this year was different, or rather, _I_ felt different.

My strange relationship with Draco had started cautiously, with us meeting for the occasional spot of lunch at quiet restaurants, or for coffee at one of the many café's that dotted Diagon Alley's street. Once we got passed the wary formality with which she spoke to each other, I think we found in each other a stimulating and witty companion. Draco's tongue was every bit as razor sharp as I remembered, although his humour had grown and evolved to match it. I myself am the soul of sarcasm, and if sarcasm is considered the lowest form of wit, that's fine – I've also been dubbed Mistress of Understatement on more than one occasion.

Altogether our tentative acquaintance soon progressed into the realms of friendship, surprising me with the ease in which it happened. Once you got passed Draco's icy exterior he was fantastic company, prone to delivering amusing anecdotes in a dry tone of voice that had me bursting out with startled laughter once I caught up with the punch line.

Life proceeded on in this comfortable fashion, until I found myself grabbing one rare Sunday morning lie-in in early December. I was dozing peacefully, wrapped up snuggly in my multitude of coverlets, half-dreaming of drifting unsupported through a cloudless sky. Dimly I became aware of another presence in my room, struggling to open my eyes I let out a soft groan as the sunlight slipping through the cracks in my curtains assaulted me.

"Good morning, Ginevra," said the presence, and I groaned again, much more loudly and drawn out.

"Draco, why are you disturbing my blessed lie-in?" I demanded, the effect ruined by the quilt that was effectively muffling me. Blinking my eyes furiously to clear them of sleep I peeked out over the top of the quilt. Draco was leaning casually against the doorframe, smirking at me for all he was worth. I harrumphed loudly, before rolling over and burrowing into my bed. "Go away!" I shouted from the depths of my mattress, feeling mulish and cheated of my precious rest.

"Come now Ginny, we _did_ have an arrangement," he said, his tone implying that he was the very soul of patience. I groaned again, what arrangement?

"No!" I was being childish, but I was warm, and it had been snowing when I went to bed last night. I heard him sigh, and hummed contentedly at his obvious defeat. Trying to recreate my pleasant dream in my head, I allowed myself to drift once more. Abruptly, my covers were whipped off of me and, squealing, I rolled out of bed and into a defensive crouch on the floor. "_Draco Malfoy!_" I yelped, glaring bloody murder at him. "How _dare_ you?!"

His lips twitched for a moment, and then he schooled his face back into its mask of detached amusement. "We have an arrangement," he said again, and then chucked my quilt back on the bed. "How about I put the coffee pot on whilst you shower?"

I growled and stalked past him into the bathroom, only Draco could make it seem as though he were the one being reasonable when he very obviously was _not_! As the warm water beat down on me, I found myself waking up. Guiltily I remembered that I had indeed arranged with Draco to spend the day with him. He'd arranged a surprise, and I reluctantly found myself feeling both curious and excited – I was still such a child in some respects.

Padding back into my bedroom I quickly pulled on some jeans and an oversized woollen jumper. Leaving my mane of red curls loose to air dry, I pulled on a thick pair of socks and then followed my nose through the kitchen, where the enticing smells of coffee and eggs beckoned.

Plopping down on one of the stools at the island in the middle of the kitchen, I grinned when Draco turned to look at me. "I can never get used to the sight of you being useful in the kitchen," I told him, my voice teasing, but the words true nonetheless.

He rolled his eyes at me and turned back to the eggs he was scrambling. "No House Elves at University," he reminded me, and I grinned again at his back; no matter how often he told me, it was still a sight to behold. Feeling lazy, I sat with my head propped in my hands, watching him deftly flit from the coffee pot, to the eggs, to the toast. After a few minutes, he set a plate heaped high with toast and eggs in front of me, followed in short order by a large mug of black coffee.

"Well you certainly know how to roust a girl from her bed in style, Malfoy," I said graciously, tucking into the mountain of eggs before me. He gave me a level look before starting on his own breakfast much more delicately.

"Yes, well, if a certain Weasley had remembered our arrangement, then no rousting would have had to be employed," he replied loftily, and this time it was me who rolled the eyes.

"Cut me some slack, I was up to the early hours giving Rinkson a shoulder to cry on." His eyes narrowed, and I lifted an eyebrow questioningly at him over the top of my fork. "What?"

"Jack Rinkson, of the Falmouth Falcons?" he asked quietly, his face definitely coming down on the side of 'frozen'. I shrugged, a little confused as to why he looked like he had just swallowed something deeply unpleasant, the eggs were delicious.

"Yeh, he's been dating my team mate, Phillipa. She broke it off yesterday and he was pretty devastated. He got drunk and turned up here wanting to know if I knew why, apparently she didn't give him a very good reason." Draco nodded slowly; he still looked guarded, but if it wasn't just me he'd relaxed ever so slightly.

Ignoring him I went back to my breakfast, there was just no fathoming him.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

Supressing a yawn behind a gloved hand, I opened the door to my apartment, leaving it open for Draco. I had to admit, I'd had a great day, one probably worth being unceremoniously tipped out of bed for. Stripping off my gloves and cloak, I murmured a quick drying charm and put them in the utility cupboard. Collapsing on the sofa, I leant my head against the backrest and closed my eyes. A few moments later I felt Draco sink down more graciously next to me.

"Thanks for a great day," I said, opening one eye to look at him. For once his eyes were closed, his face unguarded, as he too rested his head against the plush cushions. The muscles in my stomach seemed to clench for a reason that I couldn't - wouldn't - comprehend, and I tore my gaze away before he could open his eyes. He was too good looking, it really was very unjust.

"My pleasure," he purred, "When the department offered me complementary tickets to go see a live re-enactment of the world's first ever Quidditch game, I thought that would be something you'd like." I smiled to myself, who would have thought that Draco Malfoy could be so thoughtful? "Of course," he continued, "I couldn't imagine that anybody else would find standing in a near blizzard to watch a magical re-enactment terribly good fun, so that only left you. Last resort really."

Scowling I sat up and punched his arm as hard as I could. He shot up with an undignified yelp, rubbing his upper arm furiously. "What in Merlin's name was _that_ for?!"

Sniffing disdainfully I slumped back down in my seat. ""You, Draco Malfoy, are a prat." He goggled at me in disbelief whilst I devoted myself to staring determinedly at the wall and ignoring him.

"Was it something I said?" He asked, sounding genuinely confused. Hissing I rounded on him.

"If you have to ask, then I'm not going to do you the favour of telling you!" He was a Malfoy, why was I surprised that he'd be so cavalier? The rationale side of my mind was shaking her head, telling me that I was being an immature little girl, but I doggedly clung on to my sense of self righteous indignation.

I was being a fool, I really was. It was my own fault for convincing myself that maybe Draco wanted… more. I'd found myself more often than not slipping into daydreams where Draco was waiting for me outside the stadium as he had that first night, but instead of asking for friendship, he took me on a long stroll by moonlight, revealing his long buried feelings for me. I sighed gustily, peering glumly down at my hands. I would never have believed a year ago that Draco would be in my life in any capacity, so why should I expect anything more than this?

"Are you over your snit now?" he asked dryly, peering down that ridiculously straight nose of his. I glowered up at him venomously before very pointedly turning my gaze back to the patch of wall over the fireplace. "Apparently not," he muttered quietly, the small smile playing on his lips betraying his amusement.

"If all I'm good for is providing you with dim-witted entertainment, Malfoy, then I suggest you seek out more stimulating company," I snapped, feeling the tell-tale Weasley blush rising up my neck to heat my cheeks. He shook his head at me slowly, puzzlement rife on his features.

"I did seek out more stimulating company," he said calmly. "Which, if you care to recall, was you."

His refusal to rise to an argument was infuriating, why did he have to be so _reasonable_? That persistent voice in my head was telling me most scathingly that I was making a fool of myself. I didn't often lose my temper these days, but I was working myself up to bury the disappointment, lashing out to try and get a reaction that would put him in the wrong and give me a real reason to be angry.

I stood up quickly and moved to the kitchen without replying. I could feel his cool grey eyes on my back, weighing and measuring, trying to ascertain what had sparked me off. Unexpected tears of frustration pricked the back of my eyes and I snarled quietly to myself, denouncing myself for ten different kinds of fool. Draco hadn't done anything wrong; I had just allowed myself to hope for something I had no place hoping for. Perhaps I'd thought that he wouldn't mind dating a Weasley if that Weasley was an international Quidditch player. Slamming two mugs down onto the worktop I set the kettle to boiling with an absent flick of my wand. _He hasn't minded being seen with you as a friend_, the little voice said, more sympathetic now. But it was a big step from friends to being romantically involved when you were both in the eyes of the media.

Chucking teabags into a teapot I leant my hip against the counter, waiting impatiently for the kettle to boil, trying to calm myself down. Draco still hadn't said anything. I'd only had one serious relationship since parting ways with Harry; Ross had been a great guy but had wanted too much, too quickly. Four months of dating and he'd started talking about our 'future' together, weighing up which of us should take a step back from our careers to care for kids if they came along. I'd told him that Quidditch was my life, and I had no notion about marriage, kids or anything for the near future. He'd been pretty crushed, and the break up and consequent fall out had been far too drawn out in my opinion. That was nearly eighteen months ago, and I'd had no desire to involve myself with anybody since. Not until Draco came swaggering back into my life with his wit and those coolly burning eyes.

"Ginny?" I spun round, startled out of my thoughts. Draco was stood right behind me, brow furrowed as he gazed down at me warily. "If I said something to upset you, I apologise. I was only joking about you being a last resort. Although you _are_ the only person I know who would consider it great fun to watch Quidditch re-enactments in a blizzard."

I smiled weakly back up at him, hoping that my eyes didn't show any signs of the childish tears that had threatened to spill. "No, don't be silly, it's me who should be apologising. I overreacted. I'm just tired and strung out, I need a holiday I think." Saved by the piercing shriek of the kettle, I turned to tend to the tea, but not before taking in the unconvinced expression on Draco face. Which meant he was unlikely to let it go at that.

"I'm not letting it go at that," he promptly informed me, and I rolled my eyes at the teapot I'd just filled with boiling water. "And don't think I don't know you're rolling your eyes where I can't see you," he said, all snippy self-assurance once more. Scowling I turned back to face him as the tea stewed, crossing my arms defensively in front of me.

"What else is there to say, Draco? I'm tired and consequently touchy. I'm sorry I took it out on you, especially after such a great day, but I'm only human, I make mistakes." _Like believing you might have feelings of more than friendship for me_, the little voice tried to tack on, but I squashed it ruthlessly before it could slip out.

He shook his head stubbornly and took a half step closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, all I had to do was lean forward slightly and I could have buried myself in his chest. The enticing smell of his musky cologne started to enclose me and I felt the unwelcome sting of tears behind my eyes. Close enough to touch, but he may as well have been stood on the other side of the room for all the good it did me. Sighing I tried to turn around to face the counter once more, but he leaned forward and leant a hand on the counter, effectively blocking me with his body.

"Stop evading me," he said firmly, "I've done something to upset you and I want you to tell me what it is."

It was too much; the proximity of his body, the feel of his eyes on my face, the concern in his voice. My precarious self-control snapped and first one tear, then another, began to trickle down my flushed cheeks. I accounted myself strong for a woman, long hours flying had made me so, but when I shoved at him, he barely shifted. "Let me go," I snarled, refusing to look up at him. "Now!"

"Ginny, are you crying?" He sounded startled, and upset, of all things. His long fingers gripped my chin gently, tipping my face up to look at his. "What have I done? Ginny you must tell me! I know I can be… aloof, indifferent at times. But it's just the way I am; it's nothing personal to you." He took a deep breath, as if what he was going to say next cost him a great deal of effort. "I… care for you, very deeply. I consider you my closest friend."

I felt my face crumple, and jerked myself out of his near embrace. He let me go this time, straightening up to gaze at me worriedly as I stood a few paces away from him, face buried in my hands, trying to gain control of myself. For a moment, for the briefest of moments, I'd allowed myself to hope. He'd seemed like he might confess to feeling more for me, but it was not to be. I felt crushed, and a part of me wondered cattily if this was how Ross had felt when I'd told him that I didn't want the same things from life that he did.

"Ginny!" He pleaded, voice hoarse, "Will you _please_ tell me what's wrong?" I swallowed another sob, in all the time I'd known Draco, both at school and more recently, I'd only ever heard him say please sarcastically. The only time I'd seen him this openly emotional was after he'd kissed me on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, right before he'd bolted from my company and out of my life. If the same thought had occurred to him he certainly wasn't vocalising it.

I sighed once more, my mother had always said honesty was the best policy, and the thought made me feel even worse when I realised that I hadn't seen her in weeks, or even exchanged owls. I was just going to have to tell him the truth of my feelings, and if that pushed him away, then so be it. But whatever happened, I couldn't keep up the façade of carefree friends, not and live with the ache that I felt from just being near him.

I turned back to face him, idly noticing the teapot left forgotten on the side. He had taken control of himself in the few moments since he last spoke, but he still looked upset, frown lines marring his pale forehead. I took a deep breath, this was possibly the hardest thing I'd done in a long time.

"Draco, you haven't done anything wrong," I began, holding up a hand to forestall his argument to the contrary. "Over the last few months, I've found a friendship in you that I honestly didn't think I would." I glanced up at him nervously, but he was watching me with that close-faced stare that probably made other Ministry officials dance in their skins. "Recently, I've found myself wanting something, um, more, from our friendship." I didn't dare look up at him, I was on a roll now and the sight of his repulsion or stark disbelief might derail me. "I know you only see me as a friend, and I know that you have countless women hanging off of your every word, and I could never be one of them. But there's the truth of it. I didn't ask for this, but trying to hide it has just made me miserable, and now I've lashed out at you and probably ruined this whole friendship." I was rambling, but I needed to tell him everything before he stalked out in disgust. "If you would feel more comfortable putting some distance between us, I'd understand. I'm sorry," I finished quietly, staring disconsolately down at my hands. I felt exhausted, but relieved also, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I waited anxiously for a cutting comment, or the sound of my front door slamming as he left in an icy whirlwind. As such, I was taken completely by surprise when his feet appeared in my immediate line of vision.

My head jerked up quickly and I had but a bare moment to take in the fierce intent on his face before his lips descended on mine in a bruising kiss. My eyes slipped shut off on their own accord, my hands seeking out the soft hair at the nape of his neck with no conscious direction from myself. I moaned as his hands slid up my back, pressing me closer into his broad chest, deepening the kiss with as much skill as I'd dreamed. We surfaced briefly for air, and then he was walking me backwards into the wall, dominating my senses. All I could taste, hear, feel was Draco Malfoy in all his captivating glory.

After an indefinite period of time he drew back slightly, resting his forehead against my own, breathing deeply. His hands rested possessively on my hips and I left my hands clasped around the back of his neck, frightened that if I let go he would drift away, no more real than the dreams I'd had.

"How could you think I wouldn't want you?" he demanded, the close proximity of his burning grey eyes doing funny things to me. "I've kept my own feelings hidden since day one, hoping that friendship would lead to more, but not daring to tell you." I could feel him frowning against me, and I gently stroked the back of his neck. He took a deep, shuddering sigh and gently squeezed my hips. "You never showed me any sign that you thought of me as anything more than a friend, and I wasn't going to push it. I know what I am."

Pushing him back slightly so I could see his face more clearly I stared at him in consternation. "What you are? If you think I hold anything against you from the War Draco, then you don't know me as well as I'd hoped." He looked uncertain, and I pressed forward intently. "You were caught between a rock and a hard place, and even Harry didn't envy you your predicament. Look at what you've become! I've followed your career in the Foreign Office. You've been responsible for as many peace treaties as the Foreign Minister himself." I took his face firmly between my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Whatever sins you think you've committed in the past, I think you can safely say you have more than expiated them." The outright relief in his eyes made me want to cry again, for him this time. I should have known he was carrying demons around in his pockets, small chance that he'd exorcised them in the years since I'd seen him last.

"You're still a prat, of course," I told him lightly, and he laughed, and I felt it reverberate from deep within his chest. He lowered his head and captured my lips again, more gently this time, and I savoured him, my hands tentative at first in their exploration, but soon growing bolder as they traced the hard lines of his body beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. His own hands were setting my blood on fire, and if my heart pounded any harder it would surely burst.

"You, Ginevra Weasley, are perfect," he whispered against my lips. "And you're mine." A thrill of pleasure ran down my spine at his words and I pressed into him, laying claim to him with my mouth.

"Yes," I replied agreeably, gently biting down on his lower lip. "But you're mine too, and I think given how fragile my confidence is in my claim on you, that you should prove it to me in no uncertain terms." His lips had been trailing gentle kisses down my throat as I'd spoken, but as I finished he growled and nipped the skin, sending a wave of heat down my body.

"Play with fire and you might get burnt," he whispered sultrily against my neck, and it was all I could do not to collapse into his arms there and then.

"Please," I managed to stammer out, my mind a fogged mess between the effect of his caressing kisses and his sure, wandering hands.

Abruptly he swept me up into his arms, bridal style, and he was marching me with brisk steps into my bedroom.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

I lay sated, entwined with the slumbering body of Draco, my head rested contentedly against his chest. I felt at peace, and finally I felt content with myself. As he'd claimed every available inch of my body it was as though he had unlocked the old Ginny from somewhere deep within and I felt truly happy for the first time in maybe two or three years.

He had turned my world on its head and shaken it down until my priorities fell into their rightful places. Tomorrow I would take a well-deserved day off from training and visit my parents. For now, Draco was stirring and I intended to give him as sincere a thank you for his timely appearance into my life as I could. His hand ghosted across my bare shoulders and tangled into my hair, guiding my head up to his.

I wrapped my arms around him, sighing with pleasure has his arms enclosed me in return.

It felt right, it felt like home.

**A/N: **Well, this is the first thing I've written in… several years, I think. It just sprung up out of nowhere, a few days ago, and it's a very long time since I've had the urge to sit and write without stopping. I kept trying to turn it into an angst piece, which is my particular preference, but it had a life of its own and would not be swayed from its (fluffy?) course. I have read through it as thoroughly as I can and amended any mistakes that I could find, but it is not Beta'd, so I do apologise for any that you yourselves find.

As any of you who have read any of my oneshots before may have noted, I like to put a few lyrics at the top that fit the mood of the story. Usually, I have found inspiration for the plot from the song itself. This time, I couldn't find anything that fit the bill, until I was writing the last few lines and a song I had not listened to for a while came on my iTunes. As I listened I couldn't believe how perfectly the lyrics fit this story. Isn't it funny how things fall out?

A brief thank you to the few members of The DG Forum that I have kept in contact with over the last few years, I'm sorry that I have not followed your own writings, but I hope that I have recovered my own passion for writing now, and with it the desire to read and review as arduously as I used to.

For those of you who have read this, please do leave a review, even if it's only a few words. I feel very rusty and your thoughts on this piece would be greatly appreciated.

Dominatrice


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